


Life of a Watcher

by sharpiesgal (TigerLily)



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 23:44:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7196141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerLily/pseuds/sharpiesgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of vignettes in the life of Joe Dawson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life of a Watcher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lasairfhiona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasairfhiona/gifts).



Joe added a few lines to his Watcher’s journal before closing it and slipping it back into his desk drawer with a tired sigh. He removed his glasses and tossed them onto the desk calendar before pushing away from the desk.

He thought all the shit he had seen and dealt with in Vietnam would have prepared him to be a Watcher, but he had just been proven wrong once again.

He had just returned from watching MacLeod fight another immortal and win. An immortal that the Scot had considered a good friend until he had started killing people, so to that end MacLeod had refused to accept his quickening.

Most quickenings were painful to watch, but to watch MacLeod refuse to accept his former friend’s quickening was so painful to watch that at one point he had to turn away.

“You look like how I feel,” broke into his tired thoughts.

“Then were both shit out of luck,” Joe retorted as he slowly stood up balancing his weight against his desk as he reached for his cane. He was dead on his feet and that didn’t help his mood any.

“Yeah,” Methos agreed with a wry chuckle. “Now, sit down before you fall down.”

Joe shrugged since he didn’t have it in him to argue. He slumped back into his chair and asked, “How is he?”

“As good as can be expected,” Methos replied as he settled onto the sofa across from the desk.

Joe nodded. He had called Methos to help him take care of MacLeod since this was one time he didn’t think he could do it on his own.

“I helped him back to the dojo,” Methos said answering Joe’s unspoken question. “I figure he’ll be at his island by sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

“Best place for him.”

“Yeah,” Methos quietly agreed. MacLeod’s island was actually holy ground so that meant he could recover from this latest bout without having to worry about somebody coming for his head. “You want a drink?”

“I could use one,” Joe replied.

“Alright,” Methos said as he levered himself off the sofa and wandered out of the office forgetting that Joe always kept a bottle and a couple of glasses in the bottom drawer of his desk.

Joe didn't bother to stop him since he had a feeling that Methos was going for the bottle of reserved scotch that he kept for life's cuurve balls. He could really use a few shots of it tonight.

Methos returned with the bottle and a couple of glasses. He poured them each a shot and then toasted, "To good friends."

"To good friends," Joe said in return while quietly thinking _may they never become enemies_.

*&*&*&

Methos sighed and sat back as he contemplated the chess board trying to decide his next move. He wasn’t certain if he should prolong the game and make Joe suffer or end it quickly and find something else to entertain himself with.

Joe took the opportunity out of his hands by tipping over his king. “I’m much better at poker,” he admitted with a casual shrug.

“I see,” Methos murmured. He wasn’t fond of games of chance since he had been around when most of them had been invented. 

“You can be a wet blanket sometimes.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Joe shook his head in bemusement.

“So what now?” Methos asked with a wry smirk.

“Read any good books lately?” Joe countered with a knowing smirk of his own.

Methos shook his head and laughed. The only book he had been reading of late was a medical textbook since he decided he needed to update his medical knowledge since his current alias was an EMT.

Joe shrugged his shoulders and reset the chess board.

*&*&*&

Methos walked into Joe’s bar after several weeks being away from Seacouver. He had been in Paris keeping an eye on a mutual friend. MacLeod was a trouble magnet of the first order, but that was expected since the Scot was a pigheaded bastard most of the time.

He stopped at the edge of the bar, settled onto a stool and watched Joe play his guitar totally lost in the music that flowed from his fingers.

“Hey,” he heard as he felt something tap his elbow. He turned to see Richie standing behind the bar holding a bottle of beer.

“Hello, Richie,” he answered and gratefully accept the bottle of beer.

“When did you get back?” Richie asked.

“A few hours ago,” Methos replied between sips. “And before you ask, MacLeod is fine.”

“That’s good to hear,” Richie said. “You can tell Joe when he gets done his set. He’s been worry about you two.”

“That’s nice,” Methos quipped.

Richie nodded and went back to waiting on people at the bar.

*&*&*&

Joe set a tumbler of good scotch on top of the piano and rested against it as he listened to Methos play. It wasn’t often that the older immortal indulged in his creative side, so Joe enjoyed any opportunity he got to listen to Methos play.

Methos reached up and picked up the tumbler with his left hand while he kept playing with his right. “Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Joe replied. “Do you take requests?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Something I can play along with.”

“I might have something in my repertoire,” Methos lightly quipped.

“You are impossible,” Joe muttered, but walked over and picked up his guitar.

“You make it too easy to yank your chain,” Methos countered with a wry grin. He loved to tease his fellow Watcher.

Joe was tempted to roll his eyes, but he didn’t want to egg Methos’ teasing on. He slipped his guitar strap over his head and settled his guitar against his hip. He listened for a few beats and then started playing.

He and Methos spent the better part of the evening jamming.

*&*&*&

Joe sat on the sofa in his office sipping on a tumbler of good scotch. It had been another busy day for his bar, which made him happy since it helped to pay his bills better than him being a Watcher ever did.

He laid his head back and closed his eyes.

“Hey, old man,” came from the doorway of his office and caused Joe to open his eyes and glare at the person daring to disturb his peace and quiet.

“Who are you calling old any way?” he countered.

“You,” Methos said as he walked in and settled on the sofa next to Joe. “Because we both know that I don’t look my age.”

“Not touching that,” Joe retorted. “So what brings you here?”

“I’m bored and thought you could entertain me,” Methos explained with a knowing smirk.

“In other words, MacLeod kicked you out of the dojo for being your normal pain in the ass self,” Joe assumed.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Joe softly sighed. “Go grab the chess board. I might just beat you this time.”

“In your dreams,” Methos retorted, but went did as Joe said.

They ended up playing chess for the rest of the night.


End file.
